


Look To This Day

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Silver Metal Lover - Tanith Lee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:36:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I could cry for Silver, and Verlis. I could even manage tears for Loren. But I could never cry for my mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look To This Day

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from a poem often attributed to Kalidasa. Rated R because Clovis has a potty mouth. :)
> 
> Written for thornsmoke

 

 

_My mother is dead._

Those four words had ruled my thoughts for several months, whether awake or asleep. I soon found myself repeating them aloud to myself in unguarded moments; unfortunately these could occur in public places, crowded restaurants, busy markets. This would obviously draw startled looks from passersby. If not for those stares I wouldn't have been aware I was giving voice to my inner dialog.

_My mother is dead._

I could never know for certain. There was no body, no proof, only a missing persons report filed by some sensationalist news outlet. But I'd seen the vids of my childhood home, _Chez Stratos_ , raining fire and ash before veering off its course and tumbling to the valley below. My mother, were she alive, would never allow this to happen. By force of will alone, she could keep her dazzling mansion aloft.

When I thought of _Chez Stratos_ , of the house robots, and my old suite, the VLO, and of my mother's magnificent vanity with its miniature pots of cosmetics and crystal vials of _La Verte_ , I cried. I could cry for the house and the memories of all the wonders it held, and for the families who were killed in the wake of its destruction. I could cry for Silver, and Verlis. I could even manage tears for Loren. But I could never cry for my mother. When I thought of her my eyes burned dry and hot. I felt hollow inside, where my heart should be.

Where my heart should be I was hollow, and my mother was dead.

Though I already experienced a fair amount of fame in my own right, after Demeta's disappearance the attention became unbearable. Within a few weeks I was forced to cut off all communication to the outside world. The phone would ring off the hook, and my messaging system crashed. The phone company contacted my legal counsel to complain that my call volume had exceeded their server capacity, and that I would be billed for a replacement, we thank you for your cooperation and understanding.

Papparrazi and reporters set up camp on the street below my flat, making it impossible to leave without using the rooftop helipad or running the press gauntlet. My neighbors turned on me, complaining that my very presence lowered their quality of life. I couldn't stand everyone's eyes on me, prodding, accusatory, baring me naked. Every time I ventured out for sustenance or air, I returned home exhausted, drained, feeling even more hollow.

I barred and darkened the windows. I no longer ventured outside my flat. I allowed the mail to pile up in the hall, unanswered. My legal counsel tried to convince me to make a statement, but I couldn't bear to give the vultures another pound of my flesh.

"This is stupid," Clovis said to me crossly one day, several months after _Chez Stratos'_ destruction. He and Tirso flew into Paris to rescue me, but from what I can't imagine. Myself, maybe. I'm forever in need of salvation.

"What?" I mumbled from where I curled on a cushion in my darkened sitting room.

I don't think I'd moved from that spot in several days. My throat was bone dry, my stomach as hollowed out as my heart. The two of them had burst into the flat moments before, unannounced. I'd forgotten how I gave Clovis the building's security access key almost two decades ago, when I first came to Paris to figure out how I could live the rest of my life without Silver. Tirso hummed and bustled in the flat around us, opening the windows to let in the light and the air for the first time in months.

You could do that, here. You could open the windows. The _Paris aire urbaine_ had an environmental reclamation program that put the rest of the world to shame. 

" _This_ is stupid," Clovis gestured and glared at me, then proceeded to unwind the impossibly long, garish scarf he wore from around his neck. " _You're_ stupid. This place smells like a fucking coffin."

_My mother is dead._

"Clovis." I said his name in a strangled whisper. I was mortified, but not surprised, when my eyes proceeded to brim with tears. I was suddenly sixteen again, ruled by my coldly unapproachable mother, outshined by my brilliant, worldly friends.

Tirso thust a mug of fresh, hot coffine under my nose and draped himself over the cushion beside me with a thoughtless sort of grace I knew was entirely contrived for his lover's benefit. Clovis always did enjoy a show. I cradled the mug between my chilled fingers and stared into its depths, too ashamed at my own weakness to meet their pointed gazes.

"Listen, Jane," Clovis began, the sharp edge of his voice blunted. "I can imagine how you've been feeling. Demeta, that evil bitch from hell, might be gone, but she was still your _mother._ "

 _But it's not even that, Clovis,_ I thought to myself. I took a careful sip from the mug, sweetness bursting upon my tongue. _It's not about Demeta._

"Then what is it about, honey?" Tirso gently asked, and I was horrified to discover I'd spoken out loud again.

"I just can't stand it." I took a deep breath, the comforting smell of the coffine filling my head. The fresh spring Parisian air washed over me from the sitting room's open window. "All those people in the street, staring at me."

Clovis made an exasperated noise. "Jane, darling, you're a _performer._ Being the object of mass speculation is part of your job description."

"It's not the same," I replied, shaking my head. "They're not looking at me because I'm giving a performance; they're looking at me because I'm Demeta's estranged daughter. They're analyzing my every move. They want a sound bite, some B-roll. They want to see me cry."

"Of course they do," Clovis said, not unsympathetic. "If it bleeds, it leads. You of all people should know that by now."

My eyes were burning again. "I can't cry for her. I can't do it for myself, I can't do it for them."

"Then don't," he said, ever pragmatic. "Don't give those bastards the satisfaction."

I started at the feel of Clovis' hand, slender and warm, awkwardly squeezing my shoulder. Something inside of me broke at that moment, a door long barred thrown open wide. After all these years, barring sex, Clovis generally eschewed even the most basic forms of human contact. His offer of comfort was as unexpected as it was dear. Tirso met my gaze and raised a brow at the gesture, his lips quirking in amusement.

I tilted my head back and gave Clovis a sweet, albeit watery smile. "Look at you, Clo. You're making progress."

Clovis' mouth twisted in derision. He withdrew quickly, straightened, and shoved both hands into the pockets of his sleek leatherette jacket. "And you're getting up off that undernourished little ass of yours. We're leaving this hovel right now, immediately, chop chop!"

I glanced at Tirso again, but he merely shrugged, his expression mild. "Where are we going?"

"Why, sweet Jane, we're going to the discoteque," Clovis quipped archly, and began to gyrate his hips in an absurdly suggestive manner. "So loverboy and I can turn you into a luscious M-B sandwich. But first, we feed you!"

I laughed despite myself, accidentally sloshing a bit of the coffine over the rim of the mug. The liquid stained the carpet between my feet, but I couldn't care about that now. My friends were here with me, and the warm afternoon sun was shining into all my dark empty spaces. I would let Clovis and Tirso take me into the world again. I could almost believe I was ready.

But my mother was still dead.

****

After pushing me into the shower for a long-needed wash, and forcing me into long, flowing skirt of black silk beaded with freshwater pearls, I was bundled into a coat and all but carried to the helipad on the roof of my apartment building. It was late Spring in Paris; the evening air was cool, and quite bracing. I gasped in great deep breaths of air, like a woman freshly saved from drowning. Perhaps I had been.

Clovis had anticipated everything, I realized as I was ushered into the waiting cab. The robot driver greeted each of us by name, and did not bother to inquire about our destination. As soon as we were secured in our seats, the cab took flight. Unwilling and unable to speak, overcome as I was by the fact I was leaving my safe haven for the first time in months, I turned toward the window.

Until that moment I hadn't realized how hungry I was to have a little beauty back in my life. This was the city I had called home for almost 20 years. Its secrets, its lights and its architecture were permanently etched upon my memory. Even so, I drank in its sights like a babe greedy for its mother's milk. It was all I could do to tear my eyes from the Eiffel Monument and its glittering crystal spires when the cab at last dropped below to street level.

Tirso and I waited briefly on the street as Clovis left to make arrangements with the owner of the modest cafe where they'd chosen to take me. It was named _Cafe Procope,_ after what was the oldest restaurant in Old France before the asteroid. It did not seem to have attracted the tourist element that _Les Deux Magots_ often enjoyed. There was a marquee hanging over the door, advertising live music performed by Julio d'Argento.

Clovis soon reemerged from the cafe, accompanied by a beautiful young woman who seemed at turns excited and dismayed. 

"Jane, this is my dear friend of mine, Brigitte," said Clovis, gesturing to the woman with an air of cultured boredom. "Her father owns the cafe."

"Jane," Brigitte said breathlessly, reaching out to take one of my hands in both of hers. "I'm so happy to finally meet you. It is such an honor to have you here with us this evening."

I gave Clovis a pointed look. "Thank you," I said, flushing uncomfortably. "I hope we're not causing an inconvenience by coming here tonight."

"Oh no!" The woman seemed aghast. "Not at all. You are here at my invitation, I assure you, and Julio will be thrilled to know you've come to see him play. Please, follow me."

Brigitte lead us into the small cafe, which was bustling with groups of excited young people wearing vivid colorshift clothing. Each movement caused a colorized ripple effect reminiscent of a school of tropical fish shifting upon the ocean currents. There was a tiny stage set up at the back of the cozy eatery, empty save for an acoustic guitar, a few scattered Turkish cushions, and a wooden bar stool. We were shown a table close to the stage, but away from the press of other tables, and two steps from the emergency exit. 

This was, of course, more of Clovis' doing. He understood my fear of being trapped, gave me an out in case I became overwhelmed. But he also understood how I had languished these long months in the darkness of my apartment suite. Like a prince's kiss, Silver's music had awakened something inside of me. Perhaps this Julio's music would perform a similar miracle.

Brigitte set down menus, which I chose to ignore, much to Clovis' annoyance. I was far too busy drinking in the animated conversations going on around us. I heard the performer's name over and again, "Julio." They loved his music, his voice, his hair, his dress. His features were sculpted marble, molded after that of a Roman god's. He was also fantastically rich, heir to a noble Italian family fortune, which obviously added to his allure. Some people wondered why he was not attached, and other speculated that he was likely M-B.

"Tonight's performer, Julio?" I asked Clovis abruptly, my curiosity beginning to get the best of me. "Have you heard his music before?"

Clovis shrugged. "Not that I'm aware. I'd never heard of him before Briggite called to ask that we come here tonight. This Julio character specifically asked about you."

I frowned, a warning tingling down my spine. "About me?" I echoed.

Clovis' expression went lascivious. "Maybe he's a fan of your work."

I glared, and Tirso laughed at the both of us. "Why do I feel as if I'm being set up for something?"

"Relax, darling Jane," Clovis said a bit crossly. "This is simply three friends enjoying an evening together. Now eat something."

A dizzying selection of tapas, cheeses, cold meats, breads, and wines was set before us by a small army of servers. Clovis and Tirso made a great show of choosing items for my plate and forcing me to take a bite of each. A sip of wine was also required after each morsel, and I had to admit after several rounds of this game I was feeling very warm and relaxed, with a propensity to laugh at every absurdity Clovis and his lover could possibly utter.

The lights throughout the cafe, already admittedly dim, were abruptly turned off, and the stage lighting activated. The crowded dining area fairly hummed with excitement, the conversations becoming hushed but not any less vivid. When a movement was detected at one corner of the stage, a twitch of the curtain, a roar went up around us. My heart rose with the sound, and my throat tightened with shared emotion.

And then Julio was before us. 

He wore a hooded cloak of sable velvet, which cast a shadow over his features. Someone, a woman, called out something suggestive, and I could see those sculpted lips twist into a grin. He reached up and threw back his hood, piercing the room with a gaze the blue of the Mediterranean. The stage lights gleamed like fire on the impossible claret wine of his hair, which tumbled in waves over his shoulders. He reached for his guitar and settled himself on the wooden stool, and I could see his limbs were long, roped with lean muscle.

And then Julio lifted his beautiful face to the lights and began to sing.

I think I cried out; I must have, for Clovis' hand quite suddenly clamped around mine. I turned to meet his gaze, which mirrored the wildness I was feeling inside. Tirso was whispering questions into his lover's ear, but Clovis only had eyes for me and the apparition on stage.

 _Silver,_ my heart cried out, for that was who Julio had become the moment I heard his voice. This man, made of flesh, sang of a clockwork heart, of having gears for guts. He sang of a love long lost, and of searching in the darkness, alone, afraid.

I think I began to cry. I'm sure I wasn't the only one.

"Did you know?" I asked Clovis in a hushed whisper. "How could you do this to me? Did you know?"

My friend looked shell-shocked. "No, I didn't. I would never--"

 _"How could you?"_ I demanded.

"Jane." His hand squeezed mine. "I couldn't."

"Is he making fun of me, do you think?" I wondered out loud. A bitter heat had been stoked in the hollow place where my heart once was. "He's read the book, at least. He's even got the hair right."

Clovis shook his head. "I don't know what this is supposed to be."

Julio, in his guise as Silver, sang and exchanged witticisms with the enchanted crowd. It was like watching a ghost on the stage. The man I had loved, and grieved, over two decades ago was making love to the crowd. I was suddenly sixteen again, ruled by my coldly unapproachable mother, outshined by my brilliant, worldly friends, in love with robot with silver metal skin.

"I should go," I murmured to myself. "We should leave."

"No," Clovis' eyes were filled with fire and Julio. "No, I have something I want to say to Brigitte, and then I have something else to say to our friend on stage." And with that, he stood and stalked away from our table, likely in search of Brigitte.

Tirso slid over and took Clovis' place beside me, his expression cautious and sympathetic. I'm sure he finally realized the significance of our reaction to Julio's act. And when Julio begged off for intermission, and the man _actually began to approach our table_ , Tirso scrambled to his feet with me, his hands firm on my shoulders.

Julio's seawater eyes smiled down into mine. "Hallo, Jane."

He was perfect. He was beautiful. I wanted to die.

"You have a lot of nerve," said Tirso, tremulous yet angry. "You would invite us here tonight, and insult my friends?"

Julio furrowed his brow a moment, then his beautiful eyes widened in realization. "Please, Jane, let me explain."

I couldn't speak. I wanted to run away, I wanted to go back to my flat and cry for everything in the world I had lost -- even my mother. I tried to turn and leave, but Tirso still held me tight. And then _He_ reached out and captured my fluttering hands in his. I swear my heart stilled.

"Who are you?" I demanded. 

I was quickly becoming aware of the stares and rampant speculation from the crowd around us. I had been recognized at last, which was causing quite a bit of renewed excitement. How was I linked to Julio d'Argento? Were we lovers? Was I fan of his work? Had I signed him to my private label?

"My name is Julio," said the man who would be Silver. "And I think we knew each other, once upon a time. Do you believe me?"

I shook my head, unable to reply.

He smiled. "Then let me convince you."

Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see a livid Clovis approaching at uncharacteristic speed. Nothing Clovis ever did was rushed, but on this night he practically ran headlong into the quiet drama unfolding before the crowded cafe.

"You are an unmitigated bastard," Clovis hissed as he drew up by my side. He stood at my other shoulder, and though he did not touch me, I could feel the heat of his indignation. "Take your hands off her."

Julio's expression sobered. "You must be Clovis."

"Perhaps," Clovis drawled, crossing his arms. "Who the fuck are you?"

"He's Julio," I supplied quietly. As I said the words, I began to believe them. "He used to know us, once upon a time."

"Bullshit," Clovis snarled. "Utter bullshit. We're leaving, _now_."

But even as my friends pulled at me, Julio's hands and fathomless eyes would not relinquish mine. I was rooted to the spot as he begged, "Let me see you again."

Clovis snorted. "In your dreams, asshole."

"Jane." Julio smiled again, and I could feel the force of his desire flowing into me slowly, sweetly, from where his hands held mine. "Please."

A warmth pooled in the hollow place where my heart once was, a warmth that felt like coming home.

"Yes," I breathed, the word falling from my lips like a prayer. _Yes._

 


End file.
